


Five Kisses in a Row (To Say Nothing of the Sixth)

by FireWithFire



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bets, Derek Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Failwolf Friday, Five Kisses Challenge, Fluff, Happy Ending, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe, Near Death Experience, New Year's Eve, Public Display of Affection, Stiles Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:00:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireWithFire/pseuds/FireWithFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>That was it. Five kisses Derek hates the most.</i><br/>Five kisses, that's all. He wished to never remember them, but how could he forget.<br/>Hey, they weren't that bad after all.<br/><i>Shut up. They were much more... bad... than they should be.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Kisses in a Row (To Say Nothing of the Sixth)

_From all the kisses Derek shared with Stiles, all that times their lips met, some weren’t as nice as he’d hope. Not all of them were serious, not all of them were completely pleasant. Sometimes, the gesture got spoiled. Sometimes, Derek wished the ‘kiss’ would’ve never happened._

_**** _

_The first one of those was the most fake. The first one came with a price._

****

“Why did I ever agree to come here?”, Derek asked, frowning as usual.

“Because I found the guy you wanted to track down. I worked out his schedule. And now he’s here, in the club,” Stiles explained slowly and quietly, knowing only Derek would be able to hear him.

The werewolf moaned, although Stiles could swear it was more like a whimper, even though he’d never admit to Derek that it sounded that way. He valued his body’s integrity too much.

“It’s loud, and it smells funny here.”

“It’s a club, it always does.”

Derek looked around. The target was wearing a bright red shirt, so he was visible much more that he’d probably like to be. On the other hand, if he saw Derek, he’d most definitely know he was being followed. And that might not serve them well, as the guy, according to Erica’s findings, might be conspiring with another pack or other hunters.

Highly unlikely that those were hunters, anyway, the Argents would know, the Argents would never agree to having someone else clear out their forests. Surprisingly enough, they could be much more territorial than werewolves. Chris was also a man of honour, whatever anybody might think. Stiles firmly believed that the unspoken peace treaty struck between the pack and him was safe, as long as either parties kept their heads down and didn’t kill anyone for no good reason.

Although, Stiles thought few reasons were good enough.

So, the guy was telling on them to other werewolves. Derek took a step forward, hiding Stiles behind him, but the fidgety teenager slipped away and sat on a bar stool, ordering coke. He took a five out of his pocket and Derek was quite certain that the bill was in his pocket not too long ago. Stiles slurped the drink, playing with his straw and, as he always did, chewing it. At some point, it probably stopped being useful, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Hey, hey, eyes here, entertain me,” Stiles whispered, nudging him with his foot. Derek raised his eyebrow in response. “Dude, you look like you’re following someone. Act cool, like you’re flirting with me, or something.”

Derek sighed. He knew Stiles was right, he didn’t want to admit it, though. He put his hand on the teenager’s thigh and turned to him, pretending to tell a story, or something, but still having the red shirt in the corner of his eye. Stiles probably had a much better view on the guy, up till the point where he threw his head back, laughing, as if Derek’s mumbling was actually the best joke west of the Rio Grande. He then put his hand on alpha’s shoulder and leaned in.

Their lips met, and Derek felt a slight push to the left. He tried to stand still, because that would put him with his back towards the target. But Stiles was relentless, so Derek moved, sliding between the teenager’s legs and leaning on the counter. He opened his eyes, seeing Stiles had his half-closed, or half-open, depending on philosophical views of the observer, and was looking over Derek’s shoulder. Alpha closed his eyes back, kind of sinking into the kiss a little, sure that Stiles would manage the watching for a second, but then the teenager pulled back.

“Shit, he’s gone!”, he whispered.

“What?!”, Derek growled, peeking behind him. Stiles was right, the red shirt was nowhere to be seen. “Maybe he went to the bathroom.”

“Bathrooms are the other way, he’d have to pass us. Damn it, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Derek said, blushing, because he could have paid more attention instead of enjoying the moment. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Stiles jumped down from the stool and clung close to Derek, putting one hand on his back, and wrapping alpha’s arm around him as discreetly and subtly as possible.

“What are you doing?”, alpha asked as they walked to the door.

“There’s a bitch who’s been eyeing you the whole time. There she is. Oh yes, tramp, _I_ am going home with this stud.”

“You are impossible.”

Derek felt a bit guilty. Had it not been for his lack of focus, the guy wouldn’t be at large right now. Plus, he wasn’t really a fan of PDA, and he didn’t mean the tiny computers that swung out of style before they even got in for good.

****

*

****

_The second one had a painful wind-up._

****

“Why so grumpy, sourwolf?”, Lydia asked, standing next to Derek and chewing on a gummy worm.

“I got myself into a bet,” Derek growled. Lydia followed his line of sight and saw Stiles in the kitchen, trying to figure out the way of bringing all the glasses, bowls with chips and bottles of drinks to the table in one trip.

“What kind of bet? With whom? Wait, answer the second one first.”

“With Erica.” That seemed to be the most infuriating part about the bet. Derek disliked with great passion when someone tried to undermine him as the brave, fearless leader of the pack, but purely hated it when Erica tried to do so.

“Oh, snap. What’s the bet about?”

“She says I won’t be able to kiss Stiles for a minute in the middle of the room.”

“That’s so juvenile. And you’re such a prude,” Lydia snorted.

“You think I can’t do it?”

“I think you can. And I think you will be one unhappy werewolf afterwards. How much did you bet?”

“Fifty bucks.”

Lydia whistled through her teeth. That was quite a lot of money. Erica had a dress in mind, no doubt, and had found an easy and simple way of getting it. This time, though, Lydia was pretty much sure Derek wouldn’t budge. He had his mind set on the case. Erica had made a rookie mistake of going out of her way to make Derek uncomfortable. Even though Lydia - as quietly as possible, she even whispered to herself in her thoughts - admired Erica’s cunning, that one bore all the signs of a lost case. And she told Derek so.

“You think?”, Derek inquired, visibly more confident.

“Yeah. You should go for it. Go, help him, grab him and prove that blond floozy wrong. You are her alpha, show her who’s the boss!”, Lydia said enthusiastically, patting Derek’s arm.

Derek took a deep breath and went over to the kitchen to help Stiles. As hilarious as his attempts were, Derek had fifty bucks to win. He grabbed the bottles and bowls with chips, leaving Stiles with glasses on a tray and a huge plate of sandwiches.

“Thanks. I don’t think I would do it in one try.”

“Sure, because it’s easier to bend over backwards instead of taking it all in two takes,” Derek laughed. As they put all that stuff on the table, he reached to the teenager and pulled him close. As he leaned to kiss him, Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck and hugged him. And wiggled his way out of the embrace immediately afterwards.

Derek heard Erica snort and Lydia exhale in exasperation.

Alpha tried again after a couple of minutes, but Stiles managed to get out of his reach in the last possible moment. And again, but Stiles was pulled away by Scott. And again, but Stiles managed to choke on an ice cube.

Finally, Derek somehow got Stiles into a position with no possible escapes. This time he was sure the teenager wouldn’t be able to skitter from between his fingers. His eyes widened as Derek leaned closer, though, and alpha could feel his muscles tense. He even tried to turn his head, but Derek was faster, he lightly pressed their lips together, and he slipped his fingers in Stiles’ hair, gently stroking the back of his neck.

To his utter shock, Stiles pushed him away with a surprising strength.

“Dude!”, he howled, jumping away and storming off to the kitchen. Alpha ran right behind him and got to him by the time he reached the corridor.

“What did I ever do to you?”, Derek asked, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. He was really hurt, the sudden cold shoulder Stiles was giving him the whole evening was like nothing he’d ever done before.

“You just cost me fifty bucks!”, Stiles hissed.

“How come?”

“I had a bet with Erica that I’d be able to go this whole evening without making out with you! Wait, no, you owe Erica fifty bucks, not me, I’m not paying her!”

“Wait a second, Stiles. I had a bet with Erica that I would manage to make out with you for a whole minute in the middle of the room.”

“Well, looks like you owe her a hundred, then,” Stiles huffed, stomping past the werewolf and going back to the living room.

“You owe me forty bucks for that,” Lydia whispered, and Erica nodded.

****

*

****

_The third one was awkward. But it left something behind._

****

“Why am I doing that? There was some explanation. Care to remind me?”

“Because I’m going to my family upstate for Christmas and you’ll miss me,” Stiles explained.

Ah, yeah, that was the reason why Derek agreed to throw an early Christmas dinner in his loft for the pack. Stiles insisted they’d become family over all that time and requested that. Alpha wanted to refuse, he really tried to come up with a good reason to say ‘no’, but he realised his only possible Christmas dinner would consist of a take-out Chinese noodles from the restaurant nearby. So, a Christmas dinner with the pack was as good as he could possibly imagine.

Derek watched Lydia and Isaac decorating the little Christmas tree he allowed to bring into the flat. He strictly limited its size, after all, it was a week away from turning into a spider-infested fire hazard, and he somehow was uncomfortable with having a huge dry twig with a wire wrapped around it anywhere near him.

Scott tried to help, too. By not getting into anyone’s way, a manner Derek was more than willing to implement for himself right away. Allison and Erica helped Stiles in the kitchen, Boyd and Peter were out for groceries. So, alpha jumped onto the couch and tried to find something less mind-numbing to watch that those real housewhores of everything.

After an hour of basically skipping through every channel he had several times, he went to the kitchen to get a drink. He wanted to carefully slip in, get a glass of coke and slide out before he could get smacked over the head with a spoon. Or a pan. Unfortunately, Stiles picked that exact moment to jump away from the stove and run from the kitchen area. He crashed into Derek so hard he spun around, confused as to where was up and where was down.

“Ouch, dude, sorry, didn’t see you,” Stiles mumbled.

“Yeah, I noticed, judging from the assault,” Derek said, smiling.

“Hey! You two! Stop, do not move!”

That was Lydia, pointing at them with a ladle. Nobody could not obey that voice, especially now that she had finished the decorating and went into close proximity of sharp and blunt tools.

“What?”, they both asked at the same time.

Lydia pointed up.

A mistletoe was hanging on a red ribbon from a tie beam of one of the trusses.

“How did you even get it up there?”, Stiles asked, immediately knowing whom to blame for the tiny traditional parasite on the roof.

“I took a stool.”

“Hope you flushed,” Derek whispered, and Stiles snickered. “What do you expect us to do?”

“What do you mean? Kiss!”, Lydia shouted, waving the ladle around. Allison and Erica nodded along, saying stuff like “tradition” and “everybody has to” along the lines.

“Boyd, McCall, please control your women,” Derek growled into space, forgetting that Peter hadn’t returned with the beta yet.

“Not my division,” Scott retorted, stretching out on the armchair.

“This tradition is dumb. You force people to kiss under a plant. Toxic plant. That’s just silly,” Derek tried to explain himself, blushing a bit. “And it’s not Christmas, it’s four days too early!”

“Shut up, sourwolf,” Lydia said, and her voice could easily make every last corner of hell freeze over in an eyeblink. “It it Christmas for us now, and you two will kiss for good luck, then you’ll pluck a berry from the mistletoe and you’ll get on with your lives.”

Stiles was red like a lobster pulled from the boiling water. He stretched up a little and pulled Derek to him, kissing him softly.

“She’ll never let us go,” he whispered. “I’ll have to teach you it’s okay to kiss in public, dumbass,” he added, walking away.

Derek plucked a berry from the branch.

“What’s up with the berry?”, Allison asked.

“Oh, it just means the privilege of kissing someone under it was used. Once all are gone, the mistletoe has no power anymore,” Lydia explained, and her tone made Stiles think of an old lady telling a tale to her fellow villagers over a fire. He quickly buried that image under an imaginary blanket, in case Lydia developed mind-reading skills at this very moment. “You can throw it away.”

Derek fiddled with the berry in his fingers for a couple of seconds, and then, after everyone went back to their duties, put it in his shirt’s pocket. He intended to keep it.

It was from his Christmas kiss with Stiles.

****

*

****

_The fourth one was the worst of them all. The fourth one broke his heart._

****

Derek ran as fast as he could, and for a werewolf, it was really fast. He barely could see the trees he passed by, he heard the wind whistling in his ears.

He’d just heard a loud splash by the stream. A stream that wasn’t very deep, but wasn’t exactly shallow.

He was scared out of his mind. He swore he’d never take any of the betas for a hunt. He was hunting some sort of a water sprite, a Neck, maybe a vodyanoy. Stiles suspected it could even be a kappa, but Derek couldn’t believe a Japanese demon would come to California. But the splash, heavy, echoing in his brain, suggested something went wrong.

When he reached the stream, for a second all he could hear was his own heart, pounding like crazy. He looked around, but saw no sign of anybody, there were no footsteps on the ground, no scent in the air, no rings on the water. He panicked, the silence, the emptiness was overwhelming. He ran around for a moment, until he noticed--

A hand, sticking out of the bulrush. A hand in a red sleeve.

_Stiles’ hand._

Jesus Christ, what was that dumbass doing here? He was supposed to stay home!

Derek leapt to the bank and went into the water. He grabbed the red sweatshirt and pulled Stiles out of the water, took him in his arms and carried him to the bank. He laid him on the back.

Stiles’ lips were already getting blue, his skin was even paler than usual. Derek touched his forehead and cheek, feeling the icy cold skin under his fingertips.

“Don’t you dare do it to me,” he said, voice shaking, as he felt his eyes water. “Don’t even try drowning here.”

His mind went blank. He could only stare at the water dripping from Stiles’ hair, his freaking red sweatshirt, his shoelaces, he could hear every single drop falling onto the ground with a toll, a deafening toll.

He could hear no breath. No heartbeat.

He recalled this seconds he wasted looking at Stiles felt like weeks. He snapped out of that trance, unzipping the damn teenager’s hoodie.

No breath, no heartbeat.

He pressed Stiles’ chest. Once. Twice. Three, four, five. What if his airways are blocked? Think, Derek, for fuck’s sake!

Clear.

No heartbeat, no breath.

One, two, three, four, _Stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive.._. Seriously, he couldn’t get that dumb song out of his head. He’d heard once that it was the perfect rhythm for CPR. _Stayin’ alive_ , damn it! Stay alive, Stiles...

Twenty-nine, thirty.

No breath, no heartbeat.

Derek pulled Stiles’ head back, opened his mouth. He carefully touched Stiles’ lips with his and blew. Once. Pause. Twice. Pause.

_Ah, ah, ah, ah_ , five six, seven eight.

No heartbeat.

Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen.

No breath.

“Come on, come on, come on,” Derek said with a weak voice. “Don’t do it to me, please...”

One. Pause. Two--

Heartbeat. Breath.

Stiles’ body shook in a spasm as he tried to cough out all the water he’d swallowed. Derek quickly turned him to his side and held him, clenching his fingers on the teenager’s arm, as if he was terrified he could lose him again.

Stiles took a couple of deep, wheezing breaths. His lips were regaining some color, his cheeks looked a little more red.

“You-- you’re gonna break my arm, Derek.”

“Sorry,” Derek reacted quickly, releasing him.

“Hey, the vodyanoy is dead,” Stiles whispered, turning to his back and smiling a little, this silly proud smile, telling all the world that Stiles was the hero, even though he was quite possibly the dumbest hero to ever walk this earth.

“You are insane! I told you to stay home! I told you not to come! Why must it always be your way, why must you always get yourself into trouble?!”

“Derek--”

“Don’t ‘Derek’ me now, you idiot, you were dead for a moment! Dead! I thought I’d lost you for good, I thought--”

Derek’s voice betrayed him, breaking suddenly. He grabbed Stiles by the arms and pulled him up, holding him close. He heard Stiles’ teeth chattering, delicate shivers passing through his body, so he wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in Stiles’ wet hair. He smelled like water, mud and himself. Derek took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

“Derek, I’m sorry... For what it’s worth...”, Stiles whispered softly.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry I yelled. It’s okay, you’re safe. It’s okay. I’m not losing you.”

“You’re not, I swear.”

Breaths. Heartbeats.

It’s okay.

****

*

****

_Oh, but there was one before that. The fifth one, which proved a point, a point that was not exactly love._

_**** _

Stiles had been drinking for, like, two hours now. No, three.

“Scott, how long have I been drinkin’?”

“Long enough to ask that question,” Scott sighed. “Luckily, it’s fifteen more minutes till midnight.”

“Oooh, yeah, happy new year, dude!”, Stiles cheered, smacking his friend on the shoulder.

“Fifteen. More. Minutes, man!”, Scott moaned, getting up from the coach and casually walking up to Lydia. “Do you think you can take of him? My head’s gonna explode if I hear one more theory about how werewolves evolved from flatworms, because they don’t have a distinct brain, and, to quote him, no bilateral symmetry. He used me as an example.”

“You can see his point,” Lydia answered.

“In which one?”

“Perhaps in both, McCall,” she said evasively, looking at Erica, Isaac and Allison playing Twister. Frankly, the Argent girl seemed much more frightened about her internal organs than about her right foot not being on yellow.

“Please take him off my hands. I took away his booze and replace it with a gatorade!”

“Yeah, you could’ve done a better job, clearly,” she remarked, pointing at Stiles, who grabbed onto a bottle of wine and was obviously attempting to chug on it. As soon as he would manage to put it to his mouth.

Scott jumped to him and swiftly replaced the bottle with a glass of coke.

“I would’ve helped you three martinis ago. And I wouldn’t have said that two martinis ago,” Lydia said to herself.

“Dude, enough with the alcohol, what’s up with you?”, Scott snarled, nudging him with his elbow.

“Come ooon, just because you can’t get drunk doesn’t mean I can’t!”

“It means you _shouldn’t_. What’s _really_ up?”

Scott knew Stiles like the back of his hand. He would never get so drunk unless there was a serious thing going on. After all, when Allison and him broke up, they... tried to get drunk together, and it was Stiles’ idea. Plus, he kind of smelled like sadness, or something, Scott still had some training to do before getting anywhere near good with that whole smells thing.

“Okay, fine, fiiiiine, get off my back already,” Stiles stammered. “Look, it’s just... I hope I won’t remember this evening tomorrow, y’know? I mean, at midnight, you get to kiss Allison, Lydia has Isaac, Erica has Boyd. Peter is God knows where doing God knows what, and I already feel sorry for him, because man, that dude can be creepy, Peter, I mean, not God, although, the all-seeing thing--”

“Get to the point.”

“Ah, yeah, right, anyway. You all get to have your midnight kiss. I don’t.”

“What, why? You have Derek, I mean...”, Scott paused, trying not to imply the possibility of that relationship going down the crapper, because he knew Derek made Stiles happy, and Derek was a totally different person now, too. Much nicer. Less grumpy. Less likely to take out his frustrations on the rest of them. As surprised as he was when he realised, he really kept his fingers crossed for those two.

“Sure, I do, I do. The thing is, he’s really strictly against any form of PDA. I mean, any. I had to had a serious talk with him about holding hands and hugging with you guys here.”

“But it’s New Year’s!”, Scott said, without thinking ahead.

“Thanks for closed captioning.”

“I’m sorry, I was just commenting--”

“Well this isn’t CNN, is it,” Stiles said, visibly hurt by Scott’s lack of sympathy. “Anyway, I’ll be getting my New Year’s kiss next year. So to speak. After you’re gone. No midnight kiss for Stiles.”

Scott could swear he heard something along the lines of “That jackass!”, but he couldn’t recognise the voice. Lydia and Erica sounded pretty much alike when they entered the Valkyrie stance. Could’ve been either. Could’ve been both.

“Come on, you’re playing Twister with us.”

“Nooo, I’m barely standing up!”

“Move. We have five more minutes. Enough for you to lose twice.”

He did. He did lose twice, once before anyone else stepped onto the board. And then, there was midnight. He saw the excitement, the fidgeting of everybody around and every single dumbass on TV. And he actually felt bad. Not alcohol-induced bad. Emotionally bad. He’d waited many years to have someone to share the midnight kiss with, and now that someone didn’t even want to do it.

Five.

He glared at the TV, angry and bitter.

Four.

He saw that look Scott gave him. _I saw that, McCall, you condescenden... consceden... you little bitch._

Three.

He avoided looking at Derek as much as he could. He didn’t even see him.

Two.

_Oh, get it over with already._

One.

There it came.

Midnight. Everybody around leaned to each other, sloppily kissing, practically inspecting one another’s tonsils, ew, that was seriously disgusting, come one, people, get rooms. Far away from here. They say Moscow is pretty this time of year.

Once they all stopped the face-licking contest, they started putting together another team for Twister, pouring drinks, Erica and Boyd found the little pigs in a blanket and practically inhaled the whole plate.

It was five minutes past midnight when Derek sat beside him on the couch. Stiles firmly refused to look at him to the point where he closed his eyes when alpha put his fingers on his jaw and turned his head so that Stiles would face him.

But then, Stiles felt soft, warm lips touching his, gently, but decisively. After long seconds, Derek pulled back a little, stole one more quick kiss from Stiles and waited.

The teenager opened his eyes and looked alpha in the eye.

“Oh, screw you now,” Stiles growled.

“I know,” Derek nodded, pulling him close.

“I still appreciate this. Even if it was five minutes too late.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“Who convinced you?”

“Nobody. Erica. And then Lydia.”

****

*

****

_But, that was it. Five kisses Derek wished would’ve gone differently. Or would’ve gone to hell._

_**** _

_Five. No more._

****

*

****

Derek lay on his side, looking at Stiles. The teenager’s chest moved sharply with every breath, his skin glistened with sweat. He had red lines on his stomach, from Derek’s fingernails, a bite mark on his neck, a hickey or two here and there. He was still almost hard. Alpha put his arm around Stiles’ chest and leaned to him.

He kissed him, greedily, but the kiss wasn’t rushed. They savoured the moment, enjoyed the warmth of their bodies, the taste of each other.

The closeness.

****

_A million of those came around, pushing the five before aside. Derek didn’t care to count them. He knew there would be much more kisses like that, saying so many different things._

_I need you._

_Thank you._

_I’m yours._

_You’re mine._

_I love you._

_My hero._

_You dumbass._

**Author's Note:**

> I am not sorry for the stool joke. Neither am I sorry for Sherlock reference.  
> Or poking fun at Tyler Posey's crooked jaw (which is kind of adorable, in fact).


End file.
